Not Myself Series: Shadows of a Broken Past
by Saerry Snape
Summary: Harry Potter was left on the streets of London after the fall of Voldemort. How exactly did he find his way into Argil's hands? What all happened in the BoyWhoLived's past? Its all in the shadows of his mind...


Disclaimer: Y'know, I really see no point to a disclaimer as we all know this is fan fiction BUT I'll post it anyway I suppose…  *pulls out a roll of paper and rolls it out, beginning to speak in a monotone*  I do not own Harry Potter, blah, blah, blah…anything you don't recognize is mine, blah, blah, blah…I bow before the greatness of J.K.R., blah, blah…  ((insert any other random blather))

Shadows of a Broken Past 

_Chapter 1 – Shadow of a Memory_

_November 2, 1981 – London, England_

A small scruffy looking little boy with long ruffled hair that look to have once been red shuffled down a dark alleyway.  He was clothed in a torn, dirty shirt with a patch on one shoulder and a pair of much mended pants.  There were no shoes on his feet yet he did not seem to feel the cold pavement beneath them.

The boy padded up to a garbage can and tipped it to peer inside.  He reached a grimy little paw inside and pulled out a hunk of moldy ham.  Wincing slightly, he flicked off the mold and began to pad on down the alley, nibbling on the ham as we went.

The soft pattering of rain made him run for the cover of an eave, where he stood quivering.  As he stood, he heard a pitiful wail coming from somewhere nearby.  Peering out into the quickly becoming downpour with wide brown eyes, he stuffed the ham into his mouth and went out in search of whatever was making that noise.

Behind a garbage bin he found it, a tiny bundle of blankets slowly soaking through.  Bending down, the boy gently pushed back one of the blankets, finding himself looking into a pair of brilliant emerald eyes.  A tiny hand reached up towards him and he waggled a finger at it, blinking when the hand grabbed his finger in a surprisingly tight grip.

"'Lo there," whispered the boy.  "An' who are ye, li'le 'un?"

The babe crooned and the boy gently picked him up, tucking him close against his chest.

"Can'na jus' leave ye 'ere, can I?" said he, smiling at the babe, who crooned in response then sneezed.  The boy frowned at that and hurried down the alley.

He dashed through the wet, deserted streets and alleyways like a young deer, his bare, unfeeling feet making light pattering sounds on the pavement.  By the time he reached the dark, unlit streets of the slums, he and the babe were soaked through.  The boy ignored the rain, dashing down the streets to a rundown old building that always had sparrows nesting in the eaves.  The windows were boarded up and a battered "No Trespassing" sign was nailed to the rickety old door.  Pulling the now shivering babe close, the boy ran into the building, charging up the stairs to the top most floor.

"Sir!  Sir!  Si – "

The boy was cut off as he burst into the room.  A large hand cuffed him on the jaw and a high-pitched voice snarled, "_Shut up, stupid boy!_"

The babe wailed as the boy was thrown off his feet and onto the floor, curling his body about the child instinctively.  A skeletally thin little man with greasy black hair and cold, beady black eyes loomed over the boy, sneering down at him.

"Baxter, you fool.  You leave to get your share for the day and return with what?  Nothing of what you were supposed to bring back and a child.  Another helpless child who cannot help bring food to this table!"

Baxter – the boy – looked up at the man in fear and stammered, "Bu', Argil, sir…he – 'e was alone.  An' the rain…"

"Then you should have left him, filthy boy!" roared the man, Argil.  He made to kick the boy and one of the children sitting at a large, scarred oak table with a mended leg cried out.

"Sir!  Sir, I'll take care of 'im!"

Argil turned slowly and fixed the child who had spoken with a cold stare.  The girl shuffled nervously under his gaze but looked right at him even so.  After a few moments of this Argil growled, "Right.  But he's _your_ responsibility and _yours alone_, Phar.  Understood?"

The girl nodded.  "Yes, sir."

Argil nodded then grunted, "Now…all of you get out of my sight!"

The children at the table scattered, all of them ushered into a dark room by a tall, dark-haired boy of about twelve years of age with far too knowing blue eyes.  As the girl passed him, she said softly, "Do ye think he'll live, Evan?"

The boy shrugged and replied, "I doan know, Lyla.  We've just have ter see."

Lyla nodded and went to Baxter, reaching out her arms for the babe.  The younger boy clutched him tighter, making the babe wail and Lyla cry out, "Abram, ye're hurting him!"

The boy's brown eyes went wide and his grip on the babe slackened, allowing Lyle to take the blanketed bundle form his arms.  The girl smiled at him then turned and walked past Evans into the room with the other children.

As she walked over to the corner where she made her bed, the younger of the twin boys sitting nearby sneered at her and said, "I doan see why ye wan' ter care fer _tha_, Lyal.  I's goin' ter die anyway."

His twin scowled at him and snapped, "Sod off, Cal!"

Cal snorted but made no more remarks.  The other twin look at Lyla and asked, "What are we gonna call 'im?"

Lyla shrugged as she pulled the sodden blankets away from the now cooing babe.  A soaked letter fell out of them to the floor with a soft _thump_.  Evan noticed it as he entered the room, easing the door closed behind him.  He walked over and picked it up, peering at it then at the babe.

"Wha' is i'?" asked Abram as he handed Lyla the cleanest blanket they had to wrap the babe in.

"A letter," replied the older boy.

"What's i' say?" asked Lyla as she bundled the babe in the blanket then settled in her corner atop her bedding, rocking him in her arms.  He giggled and waved his arms and she smiled at him.

Evan tried to open the enveloped but it only tore off in pieces from its soaking.  He ripped open the top and pulled out the letter, carefully unfolding the dripping paper – no, _parchment_ – so as not to tear it.

He sighed and said, "Its all a mess.  The ink's all ran.  'Cept…"

"'Cept wha'?" asked the older twin, Leo.

"'Cept fer a name.  It's not in the same ink as the rest.  _'Harry Potter;_"  He looked at the babe then at Lyla.  "Ye think tha's his name?"

"Its all we've got ter run on," replied the girl.  She looked down at the now sleeping babe in her arms and said, "Harry Potter.  Welcome to yer new home."

"An' whatta hell o' a home I' is," remarked Cal as he turned towards a wall.

A/N: I finally got around to writing this bugger!  YES!  **Hooray.**  **Yippee!**  _Huzzah._  With a little help…

SOME BACKGROUND 

Evan Sykes is the eldest child and the first Argil took in (1975).  He was six at the time.  In 1981, when Harry was taken in, he was twelve.

Abram Baxter was the second child Argil took in (1977).  He was five at the time.  In 1981, he was nine.

Lyla Phar is the second to oldest child and the third Argil took in (1978).  She was eight at the time.  In 1981, she was eleven.

Cal and Leo are twins and the fourth/fifth children Argil took in (1979).  They were four at the time.  In 1981, they were six (and very well spoken for their age, eh?).

Etar and Mara (no relation, discovered days apart) were the sixth/seventh children Argil took in (1980).  They were both two at the time.  In 1981, they were three.

Harry Potter was the eighth child Argil took in (1981).  He was one at the time.

More info to follow…


End file.
